


The Cold, The Dark, The Feared

by ShxtToRemember



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Chromesthesia, F/M, M/M, Short Chapters, Synesthesia, blame devon, im sorry, josh likes to punch the wall, josh looses his temper a lot, okay dont blame devon i love her, theyre shitty, this is horrible, tyler is a bit of a pansy but thats okay hes cute
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-04-04 17:11:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4145916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShxtToRemember/pseuds/ShxtToRemember
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>「Believe me, this wasn't easy for me. Telling your best friend of your days on the bathroom floor with the only things managed to come out of your mouth is muffled, oceanic blue sobs? Passing the same people over and over, day by day, but you're scared. You're scared of your best friend with a green voice. You're scared of your mother, your father, sister, brother, cousin, imaginary friend. Passing by the cold, the dark, and the feared.」</p><p>•|¡|•</p><p>Ø</p><p>!+¡</p><p>].[</p><p>「For Devon, The Colour In My World.」</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Orange.

"Your soul knows good and evil. Your soul knows both sides, and it's time to pick your battle, and I promise you, this is mine." - Isle of Flightless Birds

It was scary, in lack of better terms. I shook in anxiety. I looked down, brushing past the familiar faces of the street. It was always the same-duck your head down, tuck your hands in your pockets, and walk. Nothing difficult, right? It was the most difficult task in my day, for me. It was always so hard. I look up, and I see the faces of maniacal beasts called man. Then, when I finally reach my destination, I reach my best friend.

I'm scared of him, as well.

I'm scared of him hurting me either physically or mentally. He is strong,-years on the drums pays off-respectful, and friendly, a combination people felt as safety, but it was something that scared me to death. I sighed, sitting on a bench then pinched my temples. I was hearing strong cacophonies of baby blue, lightening yellow, and blood red, the feeling of fear pumping in my veins. Then I heard a familiar green.

"Hey, Ty," Josh said, smiling brightly. I looked up at him, biting my lip as he sat next to me. His voice was always soft yet slightly rough, like a patch of grass in the summer sun. A painful orange overwrote his green and I winced, turning around to see a guy on a jackhammer dangerously close. It could easily hit the telephone pole, causing it to hit me on the head, I panicked silently. I was hearing small flashes of Josh's green, but I ignored it, staring at the cause of this strikingly painful orange. Then I felt his hand brush mine, a flinch moving quickly through my bones. I quickly scooted over, and he sighed, "You always flinch. I don't get it." 

I glared.

"You hardly talk when we're in public." Finally the orange vanished, leaving a terrible tint on Josh's green. The sound had been so repulsive and nauseating that it stuck in my mind. Josh tried to wrap his arm around me, and I tensed, his muscles hitting my body lightly but enough to get me to feel his smooth skin. His skin matched his voice, and if I could hear his skin scream I have a feeling it'd be fairly close to the soft, darkened pastel green as his voice that at the moment still had the disgusting orange film that looked like a dried amber coating. 

Every different sound had a different tint. Like a played C major played at a volume of one on my cell phone may come off as a red, but you bring that pitch up a half step, and you may see a soft maroon. Take the C and bring the volume up to six, an increase of five volumes alter the colour to be slightly darker, affecting the colours coming after each half step up or down. Josh always spoke in the soft, scruffy voice. A green that lit up and dimmed with each emphasis and variation to his tone. It was a calming colour, but I still feared it. I've never heard him yell, but I assume the green that I loved and feared would be a deadly white-a solid, empty tint piercing into my eyes like knives would skin. 

As much as I'd like to say something like, "Not that Josh would have reason to yell," I cannot for there is plenty reason. Josh could easily get tired of hearing hardly anything but my soft, charcoal grey breaths and raise his voice slowly, the green going through many deeper, darker phases before fading quickly into a blinding white, overthrowing my senses and letting soft blue rain drops fall from my eyes. White is painful. In fact, white is so painful that the one time I experienced it I fainted from each blow. It was from my mother, and the white was striking in fear, not anger when she raised her volume. Her lavender, cotton soft voice grew darker, and the outcome was blinding. A voice I loved turned white. 

This is not to say I've only been yelled at once. It's to say that only voices I crave to hear-though I fear them-turn white. Every other is a dim grey like the fuzz on the television when it can't pick up signal to the news station. It's not the blinding, fluorescent hospital bed light. This white is unique. It's love that feels like it has gone. It's not waking up in a hospital bed, oblivious as to that's where you are as a numbing, blindingly deadly light burns your eyes. I remember waking up in a hospital bed. It was after I first experienced the white. I saw demons chasing me, and I heard them calling, and my mother saw me in the corner, and it started with her sweet, lavender voice, but the lavender faded, and it was an empty white as my head hit the wall, and I felt c-

"Ty, you okay, man?" Green took me out of my thoughts, dragging my eyes out of their empty stare on the ground where black worked its way through the concrete in cracks. I looked over at Josh, my mouth dry and sticky as I nodded faintly. "Let's get going. We've been sitting here for a while," he added, standing up and offering a hand. Josh, wait! The black might wrap itself around your ankle and drag you into the solid it comes from. I don't say this, and he reaches down, offering a hand as he is ready to go. I contemplate my pros and cons for a moment, but then I look at his hand, realizing that it'd be way better than sitting here in a zone where deadly orange might sound.

Plus, I'd be holding his h- What?

"Okay," I respond in a soft, pencil lead grey. He smiles, and then he chuckles as I grab his hand.

He smiles, and I loose my breath for a moment, scraping the ground as I try to stand. He smiles, and my heart hitches. He smiles because he's my best friend. He smiles because he's worried.

He smiles, and the chuckle he produces isn't white. It's the green on the leaves of a lilac bush. It overwrites the disgusting orange, and it pushes away the white, the black tentacles dying back into the murky grey concrete where it came. It's simply a beautiful green.


	2. Pink.

Green, green, green. I think it's become my favorite colour. Not just any green, however. It's the dim, soft pastel green that I fear, yet it's the same dim, soft pastel green colour that I adore. It's the patches of grass along the beach, and it's also the leaves on roses and lilacs. It's Josh.

"You okay there?" I nodded as Josh pulled me into a side embrace as we walked, hauling a taxi quickly for us. The car horns were a deep, murky pink that mixed with Josh's green. It's a pink that's almost the repulsive orange, like a filthy peach that tumbled from its branch, getting mud all over its outside coat. It's not too terrible, but it puts a taste in my mouth. I despise it.

Josh holds my hand, and I try my best not to flinch away. He whispers 'relax' a few times, but I just can't. The task of relaxing is too difficult for a person like me. Is there even any one else like me? Who fears the colour white, and who leans to comfort with the colour green? Though I'd like to say there isn't, the possibilities are endless, and there's about a fifty percent chance there is at least one person with the same mind set. That's a big chance looking at the grand scheme of things.

Now we're sitting in the back of a taxi cab, and I know Josh understands my discomfort because he's sitting fairly close to me, still in the awkward side hug. I can feel his coal coloured breath against my ear, shivers making my skin scream. I hear that painful pink, the acceleration jolting me forward due to a slam of breaks, but Josh keeps me there in the seat. Josh keeps me safe, but I'm still scared. He could easily hurt me in the long run. Why don't I trust him? Why should I trust him? Because he protects you from oranges and pinks.

Is green the colour of safety? Even if it was, I would still feel a strong discomfort in his arms or just his presence. It's an odd and eerie feeling. It's disgusting. It's the dirty peach pink and crusty amber orange, yet fear adds black and navy blue. It's repulsive and scary. It's traumatizing.

The little black seeping through concrete is symbolic. It's not even there. It's my brain, and each tentacle of black is the fear I'm experiencing. The navy, school shirt blue tint over the world that I only see with wind chimes and the lower end of a treble clef on the piano. It's a deep colour that alters with the light, airy sounds. Going by logic it should be lighter, but it's not. I feel as if the world should be blank, and the only colour painted is inflicted by the sounds I hear.

Two flashes of pink rang out, and I winced, squeezing my eyes closed, and nuzzling closer to Josh. It was sudden, and I felt embarrassed by my sudden action. 

"Tyler, bro, come on. We're here," Josh said in his soft green, opening the door and easing his way out, keeping his body awkwardly close to mine. I held his hand for some sort of comfort as we brushed out of the taxi into the baby blue, crimson red, and lightening yellow mixture of voices with flashes of dirty peach pink as well as the black and navy blue coming from laughter and front porches and buisy buildings. Josh lead me up to the studio, his soft coal breaths swirling around me as we entered the sudden silence. Then another tint of pink-a land line phone-washed over, mixing in with the smokey charcoal like pink smoke. "It's okay, Ty," he whispered as he led me up the stairs. 

This week had been one of my worst in a while. Any sudden colour scared me to death, and everything seemed so hostile. We finally made it up the stairs and into the practice room. I loved making music. It made me feel like I had the power to control the colour spectrum, which, in my case, I sort of could. My own voice was deep, eggplant purple; a contrast to my mother's light, lavender voice that a young girl might paint her walls with. Maybe my mother was the lilacs on Josh's lilac bush. My two favorite people ever.

When we got into the studio room, the air conditioner was blowing, a soft smokey, peach pink mixing in with the soft orange scrapes of chairs as we got situated. Josh got behind his drum set, warning me before he began playing, and before the room filled with light red colours. He was doing warm up, I knew, but I loved each spark in my brain it produced. Then I sat down at my piano, letting that navy blue mix with the brown as I play the deeper end of the treble clef. 

Josh sets a new rhythm, and I mix in with it, letting my fingers travel into the bass to let soft turquoise colours join the mix. It's beautiful. I guess that's why I confide in music. 

I control it, and its colours.

Then we're mixing the sounds, matching to each-other. Each hammer on his foot peddle, each delicate dance of my fingers, every clash on the snare, and every sudden flash of colour as I dip into the ends of keys swirl in my head, and then it's too much. Each vibrant brush of colour is threatening, and I can't control my fingers as they hammer each key. I'm not even sure how it sounds. Then I hit the wrong key. I stumble back on my bench, hitting the floor. I'm panting heavily, trying to get away ..from what? Colours? 

"Tyler!" Josh calls when he looks up, quickly getting from behind his drum set to me side; he drops his drum sticks in the process. "Dude, you okay?" he asks rushed, pulling me to him, but I'm trying to get away. His green voice isn't so calming as it darkened. It's close to white, Tyler. 

I shove him off, scooting away before opening my mouth to speak: "I-I'm alright," I say softly. He stares at me for a moment, sighing as if he's disappointed and shaking his head. 

"I don't get it, Ty." Then he's standing, hitting his fist on the wall and groaning. "I don't get it!" I flinch at each movement, the colours threatening. 

"Th-There's nothing to g-get," I stammer softly, standing then walking out. The door closes, but before it does I hear him let out a cry:

"I don't get what happened to you!"

I'm not surprised, in all honesty. I used to not be like this. The colours became more vivid, more frightening. I lost sleep. I lost friends. I was running away from colours. How pitiful is that? You wouldn't understand. No one does. I don't understand.

I don't get it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sings Goner* 
> 
> *lights self on fire*


	3. Blue.

I'm not sure how I just walked out like that. I never just walk out. I'm too scared to walk out, but here I am, walking down the street with my hands shoved in my pockets, shoulders tensed. I'm holding my breath, chewing the insides of my cheek. I'm just walking. That's a huge thing for me, in all honesty. I'm just walking, but then the panic sets in.

I'm alone on the streets, caught up with vibrant blue, childish giggles like the sky and baby's clothing. I begin to shake, and I contemplate on turning back towards the studio before I realize I'm lost in the world of creeps, murderers, and thieves. The giggles and laughter of small, fragile voices scare me, and I'm quivering with ever step. There's soft blues swishing in the air like the sky, and I feel the suffocating black work its way into my veins, but I'm too shaky to run, so I walk. I feel my knees lock up a few times. Suddenly, I'm not thinking about the studio anymore. My whole body craves the solid ground, and then I stumble over my feet, falling to the ground with wild, airy blues all around. It's terrifying. 

The blues continue to taunt me as the black fills me up, closing my eyelids in a flurry.

See, black is empty, and white is full. I never feared the dark, but I always feared light. In the dark, the room is empty, and if something is empty there is nothing there. There's no colour. Black is safety. In white, anything can happen. It's full of colour. In black, it all vanishes. The bright lights are threatening. Not the empty cavern, like a tear in the fabric of someone's mind, soul, and heart. I confide in the darkness I feel, no other colour is coating the back of my eyelids. Everything is still. Everything is silent. Everything is black.

I have no distraction, and my thoughts are screaming. That's the only thing I wish to change.

I feel dark, but my ears think otherwise. I was suddenly seeing small, faint specks of another type of blue. It's the deeper blue on the box of bandages in my mother's kitchen, and the deep blue in tribal patterns. Four tones above an oceanic blue like denim. I recognize this colour as soft beats, and then I hear the soft, dimmed pastel green.

"Tyler, I know you're sleeping..." and he wasn't entirely wrong. I couldn't open my eyes. He sighed before he continued, "..but I'm sorry." I heard some sort of croak-a bright, sea foam green. "I'm supposed to be your friend, and I understand all ..this not to the extent I wish. You're scared of sound." He's not correct. I'm not scared of sound; I'm scared of colour. It's different. "Tyler-" Then my eyes slowly flutter open.

"Josh," I whispered softly, and from where he was standing beside the door of this room, which I quickly recognized as a hospital room, to leaning over the bed. This wasn't the first time this has happened, but I'm not normally in a hospital. I passed out. What's so major about that? 

"There wasn't anyone there. You were in the other side of town. Why'd you walk out?" He looked sad, and his green was softer than normal. I just stared. Josh took a deep breath, glancing down, "I'm sorry." His voice was damp with a soft blue. Was he crying? "I never yell at anyone, Ty." I nod, and he pulls away from the bed and grips his hair. I see orange as his fist collides with the wall out of pure anger. I hide under the blanket then I'm sobbing, blue overwriting orange as he grunts at himself and hits on the plastic of the walls.

"Stop," I sob silently. He keeps mumbling things to himself. "Stop," I say a bit louder. Josh doesn't stop. Before I comprehend what I'm doing, I'm yelling, "Stop!" My voice is a blue grey like a metal painted over in thin blue. He stops and looks at me. Then my heart breaks. "Go away," I say softly, and Josh only nods, walking out of the room. I hide my face under the blanket for a while, trying desperately to disappear. I have a feeling a good five minutes until I heard someone else walk into the room.

"Mr. Joseph?" A girl's voice said softly. Her voice was red, a colour I didn't see often. It reminded me of the glowing coals in the bottom of the fire pit, and I couldn't decide if I liked it or not. She peeled my blanket back hesitantly, and I glared up at her, a soft pump of panic filling my veins. "You feeling alright?" I ignored her voice, observing her features. Her hair was a white-ish blonde, a little lighter than the white pages on a colouring book that aren't really white, her eyes a menacing blue like shattered glass, and her skin pail like porcelain. She was beautiful, needless to say, but everyone was beautiful at first. The more I watched her movements, the more she seemed disgusting and repulsive and evil. "Well, is there anyone who can come get you?" I swallow thickly, grabbing my phone off the table. I always keep the sound off due to obvious reasons. "I'll let you get that all situated," she says, turning around, but then she pauses. "You seem scared of me." Then she's facing me again, but she's closer. I flinch as she is about five feet away. Too close. She took out a piece of paper and wrote something on it. A number. "My name is Jenna." Then as she walked away, I called Josh.

Is this what it takes for me to hit realization? Somebody pointing out that I'm noticeably frightened is what it takes for me to consider telling someone on this God-forsaken planet about my constant fear of my own life and the lives around me? That's what it takes? I'm not convinced I need to tell anyone. It's that Jenna's comment made me think. Maybe everyone does see it. Maybe that's why Josh lost his temper. Maybe that's why people hate me. I don't know. That's when pieces fall into place.

I don't need to tell anyone; I need to tell Josh.


	4. Dark.

"Tyler, lighten up a bit, man," a pastel yellowish green said from the front of the car. The yellow belonged to none other than Mark Eshleman. Mark had a voice that was like the leaves when autumn nears, the green yellow colour from the seasons easing to change. I wasn't too fond of the colour. It was bright, and I hate things that are bright. I confide in the dark. I always comfort in the dark. Anyways, I was in the backseat now while Josh drove and Mark sat up front. I don't think Josh knew I saw slight glances of the look he gave Mark in the mirror or that I knew Josh had just smacked him subtly while I was turned away.

"J-Josh," I mumbled out softly, and he looked back at me from in the rear-view mirror, "take me h-home." Josh sighed, shaking his head. Then I wasn't focused on the words spoke, but the colours gliding across the backs of my eyelids. 

I saw bits of soft grey, the disgustingly bright yellow green, soft, dim pastel, a little bit of peach, and a soft swirl of blue as the air conditioning chilled my bones. I began to remember all the colours from the past day. The beautiful, crimson apple red and the repulsive, crusty amber orange. Then another colour or two joined in. A soft golden brown like the hair on small toddlers, the navy, denim blue like faded jeans in summer sun, and the olive green on the pull out couch in your grandmother's basement. It began to overwhelm me as it mixed into a darkness, and spread throughout my veins. My eyes flew open in panic, brown pupils blown. I can't handle this illness. It's too much. I'm feeling the colours possess me, and then I'm just staring. I feel the air grow thin as I look at the one person up front pull into a stop. Wait, one? How did I miss the absence of Mark's colour? I shook, feeling numb in my legs as I saw Josh's eyes look at me from the mirror.

"Nice nap?" he asked in his calm, dim pastel green. Then I realized where we were. Home. "I thought it might be good if I stayed for a bit. I know it's not the first black out, but I want to make sure you're okay, alright?"

"You care," I whispered almost inaudibly. He didn't hear, so he raised an eyebrow to let me know. "Al-Alright," I said louder, and he smiled, and it was a beautiful smile. 

It was beautiful until I looked at it more, and it became ugly and scary like a rabbit with razor-sharp fangs peeking out from behind his lips. Then he was climbing out, and the image left my mind as quickly as it came with more force than was needed at when it came. I slowly climbed out, my hands and knees shaking. I felt myself stumble backwards into the soft fabric of Josh's loose jacket. 

"I got ya', bro." I nodded in appreciation, not looking at him to hide my flush of embarrassment. I scrambled back to my feet, small scrapes of orange coming from my shoes against the dirty cement. I pushed his hands away and ducked my head down, walking into my home. I felt and saw his presence behind me. The colour was a reminder of how stupid and pathetic I was acting. I walked into the living room and threw my body onto the couch, avoiding his gaze, but I could tell he sat in the arm chair close to me.

I felt his eyes. His deep, sorry eyes.

Darkness. Yes, beautiful, comforting darkness. A mesmerizing colour except it's not colour at all. It's empty. It's dark. Nothing was there except shadows against a dark, empty canvas. It was the painting of nothing. A painting of me. I don't know what time it was, nor did I care. It was late, but it didn't matter. It was dark. It was gorgeous. I felt so safe as I sat up from the couch, a single stream of light coming from the window on the far side of the room. Josh was asleep on the chair. We hadn't moved from our positions from earlier, but it didn't matter. None of that mattered. All that mattered was the darkness dancing across my dangerous body. If darkness has been light, it would've glistened, but it didn't. It was simply another slow moving shadow in the dark. I was simply another shadow, haunting the dark gloom of my tomb that Josh had slipped into. He was warned. Everyone was warned upon entering my dark, troubled tomb. My fingers glided over his face in the deep black lighting. It wasn't even lighting; it was dark. His skin was soft with a light, rough scruff along his chin. I felt the muscles in his cheekbones contract under my soft finger tips. His mouth went up into a smile, and I stared down in the darkness. Darkness was beautiful. It was the only thing which beauty never faded. Because it was almost non existent, it's beauty was never dreaded. I had a strong desire for the light to fade in front of my eyes. I stayed up when I could because it was as if I was dreaming dead. I couldn't think of anything better. Maybe when I die I'll be able to stare at the black of my coffin's dark gloom. 

I wonder.

I felt a hand slide up to join mine next to Josh's face, and I shivered, not tensing. He couldn't see me, and I could only make out the silhouette of his body. My heart sped up in the darkness of my own chest, and it echoed in my ears, a light pulse of a dark red invading my darkness. I wasn't complaining. Oddly, I wasn't scared of this dark red. It was pretty in it's bursts against a black canvas. Then I heard a soft pitter-patter of rain outside, swirls of dark grey mixing in swirls of my blossoms of red. I sighed, and in the center a lighter grey sprouted. Josh's face relaxed again, and his hand began to slip from mine. Not thinking, I kissed his cheek. I wasn't scared right then as I went back to the couch, settling back down. I was calm. I was so calm in this empty, blank canvas of deep, comforting, beautiful black. 

"Thank you," I said to the darkness. I think I heard the darkness respond. It responded in a dark green.

"You're welcome."

I could've sleeper right then, but I refused to. I stared at the canvas above me, feeling the fabric of the couch against my dull skin. Dark. That was all I needed. Dark. That's all I confide in. I just crave that beautiful empty feeling. It was calming. There was no threatening splashes of brightness spilling through. It was simply empty and dark. It was simply black, and it's the only thing I crave to confide in as I safe haven.

Except maybe Josh, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got troubled thoughts, and the self-esteem to match.
> 
> What a catch?

**Author's Note:**

> this is shITTY


End file.
